Angels in America
by Dem0nFl0wer
Summary: Gundam Wing fused into Kushner's play. The gundam boys deal with life, love, and death. 1+2
1. AiA 1

Mutual Obsession

This is based lightly on Tony Kushner's play, but I'd rather not compare the two pieces, since mine is devoid of any of the humor or political statements that made the original play so great. This was just a thing to help me out of writers block.

  
Angels in America  
Chapter One

_Duo and Heero _

Duo Maxwell always maintained that they had met at a metro stop, both reaching for the same issue of The Face magazine at a nearby kiosk. Heero, however, would have told you a different story if you had asked. Fortunately, or not, no one ever did. As it stood, though, their similar taste in reading material had nothing to do with fate or coincidence, but rather with the fact that Heero Yuy had happened to fall in love one week ago.  
  
And this, is what Heero remembered.  
  
It was an abandoned warehouse, in the middle of nowhere. Some industrial town that had dried up now that industry was dead. It wasn't a rave, because those were much too mainstream...no, this was more underground, a secret to be shared by only a small mass. In the basement, pool tables and arcade machines, low noise passing off as music, couches and beanbags. Retro, really, somewhat seventies America. First floor and up...five floors of pulsing music, defying any genre used in audio classification at the time. But it wasn't about genre, brand name loyalty, your favorite dj. It was about the music and you, balancing in total anonyminity and oblivion. The middle part of each floor was cut out rawly, providing a view of the first floor dance floor and maintaining an industrial feel. Couches and tables sat pushed against the wall, resting areas for who knew what kind of people.  
  
That was where he first met Duo Maxwell.  
  
He had been dancing within the crowd, second floor, dangerously close to the low rail, completely losing himself. To be no one, to be every one, at the same time. It was like some kind of high. He didn't know why he had happened to open his eyes at that time, why he was looking in that particular direction, or even why the blur he caught in his peripheral vision interested him so much. Nevertheless, it did, and he took off in pursuit. The crowd parted as he walked towards the open areas of the back, revealing a young boy his age, sitting in the middle of a couch, arm swung behind it. Heero saw the boy smirk at some one else in the sitting area...girlfriend? boyfriend? Who knew. The boy tossed his head back, getting longish chestnut brown hair out of cobalt eyes, and laughed as he pulled a tube out of the inner pocket of his black coat. There was a hustle on the table, and Heero could make out the lines the boys were drawing in silver blue powder. Blue snow...it was the evolved cocaine, twenty generations down.   
  
Duo Maxwell looked up as another boy approached the table, wiping a trail of blood coming down from his nose away with his sleeve. Hard, Prussian blue eyes looked down at him, and the line he had just sniffed had him wondering if the new boy was glaring or giggling.  
  
"Yes?" Duo snorted when Heero didn't answer. "Is there something I can do for you?"  
  
The boy to his side, obviously of Chinese descent, started snickering wildly. Heero, however, decided to ignore the friend.  
  
"I want to dance."  
  
Duo raised an eyebrow. "Look, babe, no one's keeping you."  
  
"I want to dance with you."  
  
"But why on Earth would I want to dance with you?"  
  
"Because those drugs are going to kick in a few minutes, and when they do you won't care who you're dancing with."  
  
Duo smiled, slowly, laconically, and sniffed up another line. "Let's go, then."  
  
But, Duo wouldn't remember any of that. And when Heero saw the beautiful boy again, at a subway station in downtown New York, he wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste.

* * *

Two boys, lying on their backs in the middle of some field, gazing heavenwards. Stars, floating through their fields of vision, intermingling with clouds and cigarette smoke. A voice, gliding over the sounds of traffic and crickets.  
  
"You know, we're a lot like them, the stars. Floating through time and space. Really, that's what everything in the universe is doing right now."  
  
"Do you always wax philosophic when you're high?"  
  
A chuckle. "I'm not high tonight."  
  
"Hn."  
  
"You're awfully talkative, tonight."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Babe?"  
  
"...it's our one month anniversary."  
  
"Shit. For real? That's pretty cool. Do you think we'll be around for the second one?"  
  
Heero rolled over onto Duo, staring down at him through an inch of space. After a brief moment where both boys froze, suspended in time, Heero sat up. Straddling Duo's prone body, he tilted his head to look back at the stars. "I was thinking you could move in."  
  
Duo pushed himself forward, elbows digging into the grass. There was no hesitancy in his voice when he spoke. "Okay."

* * *

  
One thing that I am not, is noble. You don't live a lifetime on the street to learn chivalry, gentlemanly conduct. Hell no. You learn how take care of yourself, how to survive. At least, that's the lesson I got out of it. But I'm getting ahead of myself.  
  
My name is Duo Maxwell, and I don't know where I was born. I don't remember my parents, being that they left me on a park bench not long after I was born. Some bag lady took me in, put me in the front of her shopping cart. Amazingly, I remember that, the rank smell, her clammy hands and contorted face. She looked old, and tired, but I'm sure I would too if I was in her position. I was two when she died, with a vocabulary of maybe two words. She never talked to me much.  
  
She just keeled over. I didn't even realize she was dead. Hell, I was poking at her for a good five minutes before I started wailing. No one cared, though, no one stopped to pay any attention to me...not in America.  
  
The next thing I know I'm with Solo. I was four, picking through the garbage in some back alley, and he was the six year old angel that saved me. I think I might have loved him...who the hell knows, I was just four at the time. So he taught me the ropes, took care of me, and there weren't all that many nights where I had to go to sleep hungry. There was a group of kids we hung out with; I'm reluctant to call them a gang because it wasn't like that. We were family. Being together was probably what killed them. The disease...it used to be called tuberculosis, and before that, consumption, but now it was back AC style and killing thousands. Some one in the gang must have gotten it, and the close quarters we kept must have spread it. I watched them die, one by one, and was surprised when I didn't. I thought I had gotten the rough end of the deal. I still do. The cops found the shack we lived in, quarantined it and had the bodies cremated, and wanted to stick me in some hospital room until they were sure I wasn't infected. I ran.  
  
The church found me next. They ran an orphanage as a goodwill side to saving souls. There was a fire, kids and nun found dead...notice a pattern? Well, the father survived, aged and swafted with all manner of illness. So I, being eighteen and the other survivor of the church, took it upon myself to take care of him. So what do I do? I stick him in a hospice, and send them half my paycheck every week. I visited him once.  
  
And now, I'm at his funeral, lover in tow. And I can't even bring myself to look inside the coffin.

* * * 

  
"Are you okay?"  
  
Duo looked into concerned, Prussian eyes, and shrugged. He took Heero's hand and they walked away from the site, sitting down on a bench not far from the parking lot. Duo took out a cigarette, lighting it as he put it in his mouth. "It's not so bad as it was when he was alive. When I went to see him...that last time. It was god-awful. He looked old, and he looked so tiny. Father Maxwell. And there were machines and wires connected to him everywhere...I couldn't stand to be there, to see him like that. It was awful."  
  
Heero just sat there as Duo cradled his head in his hands. Four years, now, they had been together, and he still didn't know how to deal with the other boy sometimes. He knew, though, that no gestures of comfort or consoling words would do anything for Duo. So he just sat still, waiting for his lover to regain his composure. "You know...I think the cat ran away."  
  
Duo looked up from his position, his eyes rimmed with red. "Well, you always wanted a dog anyway."  
  
Heero shrugged. "I didn't mind. Cats...they're intuitive. They always know when something's wrong."  
  
"Wrong?"  
  
"It's probably why he ran away." Heero glanced down at his hands, hesitant. "Duo, I have Aids." 

  
Duo blinked and sniffled, wiping away at his eyes with his suit sleeve. "No, you don't."

"Duo, baby...I'm dying."  
  
_Trowa Barton_

Dekim Barton was the man who took me in, when he found me wondering around a carnival looking for cotton candy and other things to eat. My mother, apparently, was a gypsy working there, often neglecting me and leaving me to my own devices. Dekim decided he would raise me, and bought me up like his own son. He was a bleeding heart liberal, holding office in our state. It was much to his chagrin, then, that I became what I am today.   
  
And just who am I today? I'm New York's finest lawyer...but I could have been more. Let's go back.  
  
I was always a quiet boy; most of the talking I did was to myself, or inside my head. That's what astounded people when I announced I was going to Harvard to study law. But that's what I did. And at twenty-one, I became the youngest person ever to pass the bar. One of my first cases was against Catherine Bloom...it was the case that would make my career, that would start me on my path to notoriety.  
  
It was clear from the beginning that Catherine would be proven guilty. This was years ago, when I was still in my twenties, and the Alliance was on the verge with war on Oz. She was accused of selling government secrets. But looking at her, sitting on the witness stand, I hated her. She was a gypsy...a dirty, swindling, piece of trash, a living stereotype common in our discriminatory world. I could see myself in her. She would have gotten time in jail if I hadn't stepped in. The judge was a friend of my father's, and I talked him into giving her the death penalty. America reeled with the sentence, as other nations and colonies criticized a country that would condemn some one so harshly. I made an orphan out of her two kids. My father never talked to me after that...it seemed, that...I was the child no one wanted. I don't blame them.  
  
Soon after, I was picked up by Treize Krushenada, the head of the Alliance ethical committee. He was like a father to me, making sure I would rise to the top of my career. We were in charge of ferreting out the unethicals in society...communists, socialists, faggots. We must have prosecuted hundreds of them, maybe ruining their lives in the process. But that all changed when people started calling Treize a modern day Hitler. Then there were the rumors about my private life...that I was no different than the scum I so vehemently opposed. We were discharged, and Treize died soon afterwards.  
  
And I opened up my law practice. I represent politicians; mafia bosses...the most important people. I rarely lose a case.  
  
Later, when I die, few will pity me. I'll be called a bully...a coward...a victim...because I am all those things. But that's not for another decade.  
  
I hear a knock at my door, and I realize it must be my assistant. So I tell him to come in.  
  
_Quatre and Relena_  
Quatre hurried into the office, carrying a stack of papers. "Mr.Barton, I have these ready for the next case."  
  
Trowa waved a hand in dismissal. "Just put them on my desk."  
  
Quatre looked at the older man, who was staring out the window. Trowa turned to face him then, and if he were any one else besides Trowa Barton he probably would have been smiling. But as it was, he only stared. "Quatre, you've been great ever since you joined the firm."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Quatre fiddled nervously with his shirt sleeves.  
  
"You should go to Washington. That's where you'll really get your career started. I can set you up there if you want."  
  
Quatre blinked, staring at the other man. "Washington? Really? Well...I'd love to, I really would, but...I have a wife, and I don't know if she'd want to move again-"  
  
"Ask her." Trowa turned his head away again, looking out the window.   
  
Quatre nodded, leaving the room, doubting if Relena would be happy with his good fortune.  



	2. AiA 2

Angels in America

Thanks for the comments, I really appreciate it.

More Mutual Obsession next update peeps! 

  
Angels in America  
Chapter Two

_Quatre and Relena_

"Quatre? Is that you?" Relena's voice called from the living room, tinged in anxiety, and Quatre could tell she had been taking those valium pills again.  
  
"Yes...I'm home." Relena ran to the foyer, enveloping Quatre in a tight hug. "I hate being here alone, I hate this house...I'm so glad you're here."  
  
"Relena, are you...happy here?"  
  
Relena loosened her grip, taking a step away from Quatre. "Why?"  
  
"Well, it's just, I got offered a job in Washington. We could go there."  
  
Relena frowned and started walking away, towards the back of the house, Quatre following her. "I don't want to move."  
  
"Why not? It would be great...we could get a townhouse in Georgetown."  
  
"You go."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You go, I'll stay here."  
  
"I won't leave you."  
  
"You'll be happier."  
  
Quatre sighed, grabbing Relena and turning her around to face him. "I'm not leaving you."  
  
"Quatre, are you...are you gay?"

* * *

  
Water, dripping...the sound of drops breaking on aluminum. I left the sink on again. I turn my head, wheat blond hair flowing past my eyes to lay by the side of my head. I don't want to turn it off. I want Quatre to come home...I just...I want another pill...

* * *

  
"No. I'm not gay."  
  
"Liar."  
  
"Relena, I'm not gay."  
  
Relena shook her head, sitting down at the kitchen table. Black was creeping into her vision, and she knew it wouldn't be long until...oblivion...took hold of her...

* * *

My mother died during childbirth. My father...I think he hated me. He had wanted a son, after giving birth to so many daughters, and he got me instead. Sometimes, he says that it wouldn't have made a difference if I had been born a girl.  
  
All my life, I tried to make him happy. I was the perfect student. I got into law school, graduating fourth in my class. I lived my life according to our Muslim doctrines, devout as any one else.  
  
Relena...she was my one act of defiance, and even then in was within the bounds of conventional. Father was happy with the marriage...as happy as he would ever be with me, in any case. I was marrying a nice, Muslim girl, and really that was all he cared about.  
  
Relena was different though...as a child, her father had molested her. That kind of thing just doesn't happen in Muslim families. The social workers got her out of that situation, though, and sent her to conselling. Her personality might have been affected by that...or maybe her personality was always the way it was. All through out childhood she was the odd girl, the different one. I loved her for it, that difference.  
  
It made us similar.

_Trowa Barton_

And there it was. The end of his life...tangible, real. His doctor, staring at him with sympathetic, yet removed eyes.  
  
"I'm not HIV positive. I'm not gay."  
  
A sigh. "Trowa, I've been treating you for a long time now. I've treated you for syphillis-"  
  
"From a whore in L3."  
  
"and veneral warts...in your rectum. You might have gotten them for a whore in L3, but it was no female whore. And for your information, AIDs can affect any one."  
  
"But people still consider it a gay man's disease." Trowa sat up from where he was laying on the examination table. "I am not gay. Do you know what a gay man is, Sally? A gay man is some one who, after years and years of trying, can not get even the most pissant bill passed in congress. A gay man is some one with no power, no clout. Do I sound like a gay man? I do not have AIDs, I have cancer."  
  
Sally sighed again, walking away from the distraught man. "Call it whatever you want, Trowa, but you are dying."  
  
_Duo and Heero_  
Duo scrubbed his teeth, calling out of the bathroom to Heero. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"  
  
"I was afraid you'd leave me."  
  
The braided boy spit out and rinsed, turning the faucet off as he made his way to join his lover in bed. He looked at Heero, cupping his cheek in his hand, noticing for the first time that Heero was a little skinnier, and little paler. Heero grasped his wrist, kissing the palm before moving it down to the bed.  
  
"God, Duo, you look like you're about to cry."  
  
Duo sniffled slightly, climbing underneath the covers. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Horrible. I've got two new lesions and my legs are sore. I was vomiting up blood before."  
  
"You didn't tell me?"  
  
"I'm telling you now."  
  
Duo turned to his side and pulled his boyfriend into an enveloping hug. "I love you, you know."  
  
"I know." Heero's voice was muffled in Duo's shoulder. The boys just lay there for awhile, just wrapped in the feel of one another.  
  
"You love me too."  
  
"More than anything."  
  
"What if...what if I walked out on this? Would you hate me forever?"  
  
Heero raised his head slightly, kissing Duo's chin. "Yes."  
  
_Duo and Quatre_  
It was surreal, watching himself in the mirror. Eyes were rimmed in red, tears falling down his face...but he couldn't feel them, not really. He could hear the door opening, and a blond cherubic boy was standing behind him in the mirror.  
  
"I...I'm sorry. Are you okay?"  
  
"Um..yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." A fresh batch of tears started to well up in his eyes, sniffles catching in his throat. "It's just...a sick friend."  
  
"I see," Quatre made his way over to the toilet stalls, grabbing some toilet paper before handing it to Duo.  
  
Duo took the wad of paper, turning to look at the other boy. He worked in this building, a lawyer from upstairs. "Thank you, counseler."  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't remember you."  
  
"You have no reason to, I'm just a typist." Duo grinned lopsidedly at the other man, wiping away the last traces of moisture from his face. "Duo Maxwell."  
  
"Oh...my name is Quatre Raberba Winner."  
  
"Classy."  
  
"Well...I should go now."  
  
"Hot date? Off to meet a boyfriend?" Duo smirked through his tears.  
  
"What? No, I'm not...gay."  
  
"Yeah. Sure."  
  
Quatre blinked at Duo, then turned around and left, the door clicking on his way out.  
  
_Duo and Heero_  
Two boys, lying on their backs in bed, gazing upwards. A ceiling fan rotates through their fields of visions, swirling through plaster and peeling paint. A voice, harsh and tired.  
  
"God, I feel like shit."  
  
A semi-hysterical laugh, desperately soft. "If you're trying to make me feel better you're doing a lousy job of it."  
  
"How do you think I'm handling it? I'm dying."  
  
"No. No, you're not."  
  
"The hell I'm not." Heero rolled over to get out of bed, only to stumble onto cold wood. There was a hustle, then, a commotion, and Duo was at once by his side.  
  
"Oh God, Heero, you're burning up! I'm calling an amulance."  
  
"No...don't..." his voice was raspy now, his vision blurry, though he couldn't miss the stricken look on Duo's face. "I'll be fine."  
  
"Still, I-"  
  
Duo was interruppted as Heero leaned over, throwing up onto their bedroom floor, vomit and blood intermixed.  
  
"Oh, shit, Heero, I can't deal with this...I'm calling an ambulance."  
  
When the ambulance came, Heero realized that Duo was gone.  
  
_Quatre and Relena_  
"I'm leaving you."  
  
"What?" Quatre was shocked. "Where? Lena, I love you..."  
  
"I'm going far away."  
  
"Lena, we can fix this-"  
  
"We can't, Quatre. Go to Washington. Stay here. It doesn't matter- either way, I'm leaving."  
  
"Lena..."


	3. AiA 3

Angels in America

The end of this is excerpted from Tony kushner's play- go buy the book!!! : )

  
Angels in America  
Chapter Three

Duo

He could hear the pants, the moans...the smell of cheap beer and sex wafting up to his nostrils...but he was away, far away from this dingy motel room. An arm covered his eyes, forcing the tears he had grown accustomed to, and then there was a snap, and the man moving within him stopped. Some random man, picked up at some random bar...and he just wanted to escape. He wanted to hurt, to feel pain. Murmured words, and Duo realized it might have been important. The words were distant, though, barely audible through his pseudo-oblivion.

  
_"...broke. Should I keep going or pull out?"_  
  
_"Don't care. Infect me. I don't care any more."_

  
Even his own near sobs were remote in his own ears, and he could feel the other man pull out. Mumbled apologies, an excuse to leave, and then the man was gone. Duo blinked opened bleary eyes, reaching down to slowly pull up his pants. He felt horrible. He felt useless, cumbersome...just another worthless ex junkee who couldn't even stick around when things got tough.  
  
But death...it was the hardest thing in the world to deal with. And he knew, he wouldn't be able to cope with Heero's.  
  
_Quatre_  
Muslims weren't supposed to drink. But this one time, just this once, Quatre would make an exception.   
  
It was strange to admit, but Trowa Barton was like a father figure to him. And now, the man had just told him...he was being disbarred. Questionable conduct...stealing from his clients. And he was dying.  
  
Then there was his wife. Relena. Who he loved, but he could never be in love with. He could never be in love with Relena.  
  
He stumbled into a telephone booth, fingers clumsily dialing for his sister. After a few moments Iria came onto the phone, and Quatre could make out snippets of her voice through the static of the phone line and the noise in his head.

_"...Quatre....three am....drunk?...what..."_

  
"Iria..." his voiced was slurred, he knew, but he didn't care, "did dad ever love me?"  
  
There was only static for a little, and then more gentle scolding. Quatre raised the bottle he was holding up to his lips, trying to gain the courage to get through to Iria again.  
  
"Iria...I'm...I'm gay."  
  
There was silence, then her voice came through again, clear as anything.  
  
"Quatre. Go home to Relena. And you should be old enough to know that your father never loved you."  
  
And then there was only dial tone.  
  
_Trowa_  
He hated himself. Just like, he guessed, every one else did. His life, though...he didn't regret. He was immortal...living on in the pages of history. He had forced his way there.  
  
He had never felt pain like this before. It was crippling, forcing him first to his knees, then all the way to the floor, gasping for breath. He couldn't even call for help. His vision blacked out, then faded in again, a brown haired girl standing where there was only empty space a moment before.  
  
"Wha...Catherine."  
  
Catherine Bloom smiled, though there was nothing kind in the expression. "You deserve this, Trowa. But it's not your turn yet. No, you have to suffer some more."  
  
The last thing that Trowa saw, before blacking out, was Catherine dialing 911.  
_  
Heero_  
I told him I would hate him if he left. Now that he has, I've found that I can't. I was expecting it, after all. I hope he's consumed with remorse right now. And then, I feel guilty, because I know he is. Duo Maxwell is many things, but he is not a liar. He loves me, as much as I love him, and he's suffering as much as I am.  
  
Not that that makes this okay. Because it still hurts, not having him here with me. And he's still a selfish asshole for leaving.  
  
I had Wufei bring up some stuff to the hospital...it's strange, he doesn't condemn Duo's behavior any more than I do. I listen to my cds all day long, and they remind me of my missing lover. Driving beats, the kind you could get lost in, the kind of music playing when we first met.  
  
As for Duo, he hasn't been home. No one's heard from him in awhile. I hope he's okay.  
  
_Duo and Quatre_

Quatre sat down on the curb, placing his lunch down next to him. Three hotdogs, hot from the vendor outside the courthouse.  
  
"You shouldn't eat those, they're bad for you."  
  
Quatre looked up to find Duo standing above him. "You're eating one."  
  
"Yeah, well, it's the shape- I can't help myself. Besides, I'm trying to commit suicide."   
  
Duo sat down on the curb beside the blond lawyer, and they both ate in silence. Water from yesterday's rain fell occassionally from the tree leaves above them, dripping with wet noises onto the pavement below.  
  
"It's kind of like music."  
  
Quatre nodded.  
  
"Music is what bought us together, kind of."  
  
Quatre looked over at the other man, essentially a stranger, questioningly.  
  
"My friend and I. He doesn't think I remember, but it was the first time we met. We danced all night. He found me again a week later, and pretended to be reaching for the same magazine I was. It was sweet, really. I love him."  
  
Quatre nodded. "Are you two going to be all right?"  
  
"No...I don't think we ever will."

And then there were only two boys eating lunch, wondering if fate would turn out okay.

~owari~

_Louis [Duo]: You followed me. You probably saw me that day in the washroom and thought: there's a sweet guy, senstive, cries for friends in trouble._

_Joe [Quatre]: Yes.  
  
Louis: You thought maybe I'll cry for you.  
  
Joe: Yes.  
  
Louis: Well I fooled you. Crocodile tears. Nothing...(he touches his heart, shrugs)_

_(Joe reaches tentatively to touch Louis's face)_

_  
Louis (pulling back): What are you doing? Don't do that.  
  
Joe (withdrawing his hand): Sorry. I'm sorry.  
  
Louis: I'm...just not...I think, if you touch me, your hand might fall off or something. Worse things have happened to people who have touched me._

_..._

_  
Joe: I'm a pretty terrible person, Louis.  
  
Louis: Lou.  
  
Joe: No, I really really am. I don't think I deserve being loved.  
  
Louis: There? See? We already have a lot in common._


End file.
